The loner
by evendis
Summary: Even his friends know almost nothing about him. But what can be done? He is a spy. His life is a secret, his name is a secret, and his feelings too. This story is about Punch/Counterpunch, the transformer who is an autobot and a decepticon simultaniously, and about how he got his second face and his job.


_From author: I'm verry sorry, English is not my mother tongue. So maybe this text can seem terrible. But I hope this is not so. In other case... I'll remove this. My only justification is that it is very difficult to find persons who like transformers in my country. Please, be gracious. And thank you in advance._

I'm walking through the corridor, trying not to meet with looks of my colleagues. Correction. Friends. It's very important - to make out thoughts in the right terms. I have just returned from a mission, and consciousness is not yet completely rebuilt. I've got to get away from their eyes, otherwise they can see what they should not see. Last feet to the door - almost running, nearly knocking a couple of mechanisms going in the opposite direction.

- Who is he? - red autobot asks surprisedly his squat yellow companion.

- A typical arrogant loner, - a scornful voice came up to me when the door of my room has firmly closed behind me.

Few know how my audio sensors are sensitive. Few worry about this.

An arrogant loner... How nice. Thanks that honestly at least. But in one you are not right, the witty, I'm not a loner. I also have a partner. And Primus save you to meet him at least once. My second incarnation, a decepticon inside me, my personal demon and a not small hell to boot.

I've entered into the door of Optimus cabinet and stood at salute. Optimus, without changing his position, looked at me with one lens. Somehow, because of his glance I hardly restrained the urge to check whether my armor on the place, or has already oxidized and crumbled away on the floor as a dry powder. Probably to look in this way - it's a craft which can be comprehended only by captains and only after hundreds of years of exhausting trainings. Optimus tormented me still a part of astrosecond. Finally he made barely visible motion by his mask (I do not know what mimic equivalent it corresponded to) and nevertheless honored me with the focus of the second lens.

- Sit down - he nodded slightly in the chair beside his desk.

I marched to the specified location, remembering that one must not to sit on the edge. Still one must not to interlace fingers, tremble by knees and knock by teeth. But the wish was very large. The chair has seemed me uncomfortable, as well as all the current situation. Not every day case - when Prime personally calls an ordinary soldier of not too elite unit from rather seedy planet! And even sends a shuttle.

Optimus meanwhile returned to analysis of some datapads which he was busy with when I came in. There was a large heap of its fellows on the table. Small orange holograms shined on some of them, indicating the particular importance of the data they contained. I wonder if they accidentally lay so close to the edge of the table, which stood near a visitor chair? And does this hologram card also revolve near me by an oversight?

I pretended to be very interested in a dirty spot on the wall opposite. On closer examination the spot turned out not dirty, but a trail of blaster discharge. Hmm... What is this? Аre there someone's transistors pressed near, aren't they? Phew, it is only imagining. Optimus continued to mess about with the datapad, not paying attention to me. And for entertainment I kept to seek possible escape routes out of the office. When I nevertheless had decided to look if Captain did not go offline accidentally, he deigned to move.

- Punch, do you know why I called you?

If I knew, probably I've already burned tires, trying to get out of here. But I did not know. And this situation influences extremely bad on my health - I can deactivate myself because of curiosity.

- No, sir.

- And what do you think? - Optimus leaned back in his chair and propped his chin by arms, staring at me speculatively.

Nevertheless all these stories about Prime's piercing gaze are nonsense. Because the reality is much worse. It seems that eternity has rolled behind the ghostly blue lenses. And it looks on your spark, rolls it on the palm and decides that is caught - a jewel or a simple piece of glass.

- The Charter instructs me to follow orders but not to think, sir! - I has reported cheerfully, pushing to the forefront of consciousness head of autobot Charter. I've heard rumors that Prime - empath, but shark it knows, maybe he's still a telepath also.

- Previously your attitude to the Charter was not so reverent, as I know, - said the captain.

- I'm sorry, sir! I'll correct myself. Sir! - I yelled, continuing to pose as a martinet. I decided it is the best tactic, at least until the commander would not open his intentions regarding our meeting. In any case for this behavior no one can sew me another disciplinary punishment.

Optimus gave me a long thoughtful glance, began his speech, looking at the datapad.

- Three times you got sergeant rank for showing courage in a battle, and three times was reduced in the rank for violating the order. How can you explain this?

- By ambiguity of orders, sir - I shrugged.

- What do you mean? - Optimus lifted lens-up arcs slightly. - Your squad got the order to "blow up the warehouse of energon concentrate." What was ambiguous?

- Sir, but no one have said us that energon also had to blow. I could not even assume such wastefulness of resources! Therefore, before the operation, we had... uh... relocated it. Nobody told us ahead of time that the explosives will not be given, and it was supposed we should to use the energon itself for explosion...

-Hm ... Yeah, I obviously have incomplete information. Well, how do you explain your shameful escape, when you and your squad have been tasked to hold strategic height?

- Sir, the fact is that we are a bit overdone, diverting the fire itself. And desepticons accidentally blew up our hill. Then I ordered the squad to go away. Because nobody ordered us to hold a pit.

- Yeah, - Optimus chuckled - iron logic. Last time you demoted because of... - he checked his datapad, - willful neglect of military honor.

- Sir, - I barely suppressed a smile having remembered this - we got an order to get into the headquarters of the enemy. Of course, we had to disguise them. Who knew that the lieutenant would be so scrupulous in this relation.

Optimus placed the datapad back, rose from the table and walked around the office.

- Well, another confirmation that your psyhotests are absolutely true - he said after a pause. - Curious, secretive, prone to adventurism, not suitable for teamwork. You serve in the unit "The invisibles" - the field scouts. But it is clearly that a tire is not for the wheel. And would you like to become a professional spy?

Would I like to? All my life I dreamed of something like that! To show my talents in full force, forcing the enemy to gnash by teeth from anger. To be special, to stand out among others. Not to show off, but really to worth something.

- Do not answer that - Prime winced. - Is ambitious in addition.

- You have a rare ability to change shape - says Ratchet, measuring the room by steps. - Moreover, you have an appropriate set of psychological parameters. But there is a circumstance that you should understand very well. You'll have to carefully watch your feelings - medic somehow is turning away from me. - Too strong delight, joy, pain ... You'll have to analyze your every emotion, evaluate it before to miss it in your consciousness. If you give up the slack, your dark essence will win.

I have become acquainted with the doc just now but it seems the first thing he decided to do is to send me offline with himself mutter. Yeah, I've already understood that they want to make me "a sent out", and now I should have to filter the data that I'll send to my vocal device. The doctor's words seem to me too pathetic: dark essence, brrr ... Which, the hell, the "essence"? Essence is only one - I agree a priori to all, if only they'll recognize me fit.

- Optimus, explain to him without me! - Medic explodes suddenly and goes out of the room.

I watch on the commander amazedly, but he somehow also looks away. It starts to put me on my guard.

- Punch - Prime says slowly - what we ask from you... It's not just a new trans-form and not just a job. It is the transformation of the personality. But unlike the body - irreversible. Autobots are not able to pass the empathic validation, and we are sorely in need of an agent in the ranks of the enemy. Which won't reveal himself even when he will need to do what is contrary to the autobot basis. Who would be a decepticon not only externally but also internally. Do you understand what this means?

- What I'll stop to take offense at "autoslag", sir? - So naively as I'm able, I ask, starting to realize vaguely that I'm going to get into.

- That you'll dream to tear out hoses from us - toughly answers Prime. - And perhaps you'll fulfill this dream.

I process this information slowly. And I with difficulty resist for the wish to run away. But if I do this, then I know for sure that I'll never forgive this to myself. I'll eat myself with all my giblets, rather better than sharktikon, if I retreat! I do not admit defeat, especially from myself. Optimus is silently watching me. He knows all of this; otherwise he would have not even started this conversation.

- I can not force you to do this. You can refuse, nobody will blame you. The final decision is up to you.

- Sir, is there anybody else such as I am? - I ask because I have to say something to calm down. And then I realized that I had asked a stupid question. Even if there is somebody, nobody will say me it. I think over heard again and ask another question.

- It means, you have to stay away from me?

- No, Punch - Optimus shakes his head and finally met my eyes - it means you have to stay away from us.

I'm standing before the mirror and gazing at the new transform. Dark blue matte body with two half-wings outstanding from the shoulders and bright violet emblem on the chest. Wide lens-above plate with a small plain shield above the nose cone near the temples turning into sharp silver horns. There is the blue mask under this. And between them sinister fire is blazing in ruby optic.

Near a repair platform shifting from foot to foot dock stands and cautiously watches on me. He is unarmed. I feel his fear. I am imagining how my claws are piercing just below his breastplate, then my brush rotates, going deeper and squeezing pulsating energetic canal. I'm foretasting his death groan. And then I pull out my arm from his mangled body and lick autobot energon from my claws, watching as the sky in his optic replaced with bottomless darkness.

- Punch - he asks anxiously - are you okay?

- Kontrpanch - I correct him.

I turn to him, remove the mask and smile leering, uncover short sharp fangs.

- Punch - booming Prime's voice forces the way into my consciousness. - It is not YOUR idea.

Really? Then whose? Although it is a stupid question. Much more intelligent is: "Why am I still standing here, as a fembot, twirling in front of the mirror, instead of to attack an enemy?" "Because they are not enemies," - the answer comes from the depths of my spark. A strange thought. Even more strange is that it is MY thought.

I give a command for transformation. Dumbfounded blue optic on the familiar mug in a black helmet looks at me from the mirror. I remember what just happened, and horror fills me. But I have time to cut it off in the background and hide his trail into a curve grin, looking at Ratchet. He shifts a puzzled look on Optimus.

- You called him too bright emotions - he explains calmly. - No, absolutely typical - adds Optimus, noticing how dock's jaw crawls on his chest.

I learned to control what I became. I built around a decepticon inside a cage from my own personality, and he gnaws it every astrosecond, dashes against the bars of my consciousness, trying to escape. To keep it, I have to dissect my every feeling, every impulse. Examine them in detail, passing them through multilevel filters of logical analysis before allowing myself to feel them. And IF allow? And do they have in the end at least some similarity with their original value? Every gesture, every word, smile , emotion, thought - all are subjected to rigorous selection and monitoring . This is the only way to remain the person who I really am. Yes, from the outside it is indistinguishable from arrogance.

I sit in repair block and feel myself as a quintesson - two faces already exist, and now there hang a bunch of wires on me. Ratchet tinkering about equipment. Optimus is sitting across from me. Now he no longer holds the hand on the blaster, as after my first return.

- You copes perfectly - says Optimus - even Ratchet no longer dashes aside from you.

- It's because I'm in the true form - I smile. - But to my desepticon guise, in my opinion, he is still not indifferent.

Doc hisses a curse and starts to switch wires off angrily glancing at me. I answer him with an amorous look. Ratchet still does not know exactly what I was thinking in that day.

- Doc, - I'm asking already seriously - when this is over, are you format this filth in my spark?

- What? - he does not understand.

- I mean, shall I be able to get back to my old life, shall not I?

- Of course - instead of the Ratchet Optimus responds. - Do not worry about it.

"Why do you say that?" - angry voice of Ratchet reached me through the thick metal wall.

"Are you ready to deprive him of even this hope?" - Prime answers with a counter question.

Few know how my audio sensors are sensitive.

Resentment, frustration, anger. I'm carefully studying these emotions appeared in my mind. Then I come to the conclusion that at the moment they are useless. I can not remove them. But I've learned to ignore them.

Cycle after cycle I live among enemies, sniffing their plans to protect my friends. Friends who despise and fear me, who will never be happy with my return. And... and I have nowhere to return. In all the universe there is no fire, which burns for me. No spark which will happily tremble when my footsteps sounds behind the door.

Sometimes looking at the night sky, pricked by the strange stars, I have to turn off my voice to not to resound neighborhood by drawling whine, which contains nothing but an infinite longing for home. About the house, which I don't have and never will have. I lost the right to have it, as well as the right to love someone, to get attached to somebody, to trust somebody. I can not even believe to myself. I lost everything except my life. And only then I realized how all of it was important. But I do not regret the decision nor zepto-second, because now I know the true value of that I'm doing this all for.

Only sometimes I feel a shadow of bitterness (shadow only because I can not afford more) when I hear the contemptuous "a loner." How much I would gave to not to be him...


End file.
